


A Simple Touch

by LeesaCrakon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale/Gabriel is like a sentence, Crowley loves his angel, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Touch-Starved, hurt aziraphale, touch starvation, touch-starved aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaCrakon/pseuds/LeesaCrakon
Summary: Aziraphale isn't used to being touched. Usually, it burns.





	A Simple Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I sadly realized I did not give credit where credit is due. This headcanon is not mine; it is heavily inspired by my friend's tumblr post: https://ineffable0husbands.tumblr.com/post/186238831379/youve-heard-of-touch-starved-crowley-instead

The last person who had ever given Aziraphale a hug was Gabriel before he’d been consumed by a need for perfectionism and constant doubt regarding his worth in the eyes of heaven. When they were still good friends, or perhaps they could have even been more than friends, the two angels were very affectionate with one another. Even after all Gabriel had done, Aziraphale still looked back on those times with fondness. He did not remember what a hug felt like at this point, but he imagined it was pleasant if not a stifling sensation.

It wasn’t like Aziraphale hadn’t been touched at all since then, but it was never enough to really count to him. Every time someone touched him it seemed to almost burn him, spread rapidly through his entire body and make him so dizzy he would almost faint, so he tried to avoid being touched. It would take years for him to realize what was happening to him. Aziraphale had heard the terms ‘skin hunger’ and ‘touch starvation’ thrown around here and there, but had never taken it too seriously. 

The burning...the burning didn’t always hurt. Sometimes, it felt good; really, really, good. Rather, the burning had felt good three times in Aziraphale’s experience. The first time was in the ruins of a recently bombed church. Aziraphale had frantically searched for his books, his precious books that he thought had all been destroyed, when Crowley sauntered over to the rubble and pulled the case full of books from Mr. Harmony’s hands. Aziraphale had already been astonished, but when Crowley handed him the books and their hands brushed, his heart practically burst from his chest. It burned, but it felt good. It felt good and warm and he wanted to drop the book and grab Crowley’s hand, keeping it there, until the burning ebbed away to a faint glow, but he didn’t. He just stood there, staring down at his still tingling hands and the books and marveled at the wonderful feeling.

The second time was in the Bentley nearly three decades later. He’d felt a calling like he was meant to be there that night, and when he’d discovered Crowley’s plans he was glad he had shown up. He got Holy Water and put it in a canteen, screwing the lid as tightly as possible and praying that Crowley would never have to use it. Just sitting in the car, being so close to Crowley after such a long time made Aziraphale’s skin crawl. And when he’d handed Crowley the thermos...dear Lord, he saw stars. It was just a small touch, a simple touch, but it had lit his soul on fire. He’d almost started shaking, but kept himself together until he managed to refuse Crowley’s pleas and got out of the car. 

When Crowley had slammed Aziraphale against the wall at the old convent, the poor angel had almost fainted. Having the demon’s body pressed against his, their noses brushing, Crowley’s hands tangled in the front of his jacket, it was like new heaven. Aziraphale had to resist the urge to lean into Crowley’s touch. He’d only been able to stare at him somewhat longingly, the touch deliciously overwhelming and enveloping him in a warmth he hadn’t felt since Gabriel. 

When he had held Adam’s hand during the Apocalypse, he had felt nothing, almost as if they canceled each other out. When Shadwell had backed him into the summoning circle Aziraphale had felt the burning without even being touched. When Gabriel had ‘playfully’ poked at his stomach, Aziraphale had nearly gotten sick at how intensely the burning ate away at him. He never felt that with Crowley. The burning could not even be described in such a way; it was more of a gentle heat that spread from his fingers to his ears straight down from his toes. It was remarkable to him what a simple touch could do. Oh, he’d considered telling Crowley about his lack of touch, especially after all the modern studies saying how touch was necessary for proper function and mental health. He knew the demon had no issues with physical contact if he knew it was wanted. But he couldn’t do it. That is, he couldn’t do it until the choice wasn’t really his anymore.

It was the night following the almost-apocalypse. Crowley had instructed the bus to go to London and they drove to his flat, just as he had promised Aziraphale he would. Their shoulders brushed every so often and Aziraphale’s heart fluttered with each touch. He’d realized he liked Crowley’s touch because he loved him; it seemed only natural. He loved Crowley, and not just in the all-encompassing way angels love God’s creations. He loved Crowley in the ‘I want to kiss you and wake up with you next to me each and every morning and then kiss you again’ kind of way. On the few occasions Crowley let his guard down, Aziraphale could sense that love pouring out from the demon as well. He just hadn’t known it was directed his way until later.

“We’re here, angel,” Crowley said softly, tilting his head towards the flat. Aziraphale blinked and snapped out of his train of thought. He nodded and smiled at the demon. 

“Ah, yes, I see that,” he said, quickly standing and allowing Crowley to walk in front of him and lead the way. Crowley smiled and Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin as the demon squeezed his hand affectionately as he passed by him. Trembling, the angel clutched the hand to his chest and followed Crowley into his flat. They went into Crowley’s bedroom, discarding their jackets and standing there in silence. Aziraphale sat in the chair in the corner of the room and Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the angel and considering him. The silence was suddenly broken as Crowley let loose a rather foul stream of language and shot to his feet. 

“I can’t fucking take it anymore,” Crowley, hissed, sounding angry but radiating waves of love so intense Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. He clung to the arms of the chair he was in as Crowley drew closer to him, his snake eyes filling until the whites were gone. Whatever he was about to do, he was terrified. Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat. “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you, angel, because I do. I love you with every fiber of my being and at first, I hated it, but I realized that I don’t need to hate it. I shouldn’t hate it, especially now,” Crowley said, his voice soft and his eyes filled with tenderness as they slowly went to their normal, more human appearance. Aziraphale tried to keep his breathing steady as the demon came closer, digging his nails into the chair as Crowley delicately raised a hand to cup his cheek. As soon as the fingers touched his cheek, Aziraphale let out a choked gasp and tensed up, eyes blown wide. He wasn’t used to being touched, let alone touched in such a meaningful and affectionate way. Crowley immediately drew his hand back as if he’d just touched a hot pan, worried that he’d hurt the angel.

“No!” Aziraphale cried out, springing up from the chair and grabbing Crowley’s wrist, trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. “Don’t...Don’t let go, please,” he begged, voice strained. Crowley’s eyes flickered over him in concern and he carefully cupped Aziraphale’s cheek again. The angel shuddered and leaned into the soft touch, eyes fluttering closed and his hand keeping a steely grip around Crowley’s wrist so he couldn’t back away again.

“Is this alright, angel? Is it alright that I’m touching you?” Crowley whispered, voice full of understanding because even though he hadn't been an angel a long time ago, he understood. He understood feeling trapped in those too white walls and steeled looks and lack of all contact. Aziraphale nodded and grabbed desperately for Crowley’s jacket with his free hand, whimpering for more, and the demon happily complied. He didn’t kiss him, not yet, that would be too much; he wrapped Aziraphale in a warm embrace, pulling him to his body and letting him bury his face in his chest as he clung to Crowley’s wrist and the back of his jacket. Crowley closed his eyes and ran his fingers through the angel’s soft, blonde hair as his breathing went from sharp, labored pants to gentle breaths.

“Don’t let go, please,” Aziraphale whispered, voice muffled slightly in the demon’s chest. Crowley’s lip quivered and he fought back tears as he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s head. 

“Never, angel. I promise.”


End file.
